


Closer

by bccalling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Season/Series 12, Top Sam, Voyeurism, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccalling/pseuds/bccalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s wrong because Dean has everything to feel guilty about. Mostly because he doesn’t feel guilty about this. Because Dean is in this bed, fucking his little brother because of a goddamn hunt gone awry, and he’s never felt more right or whole or loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

“Mom,” Dean gasps out, eyes rolling back as he sinks down onto Sammy, his body opening up with ease for his little brother, “mom, you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have to watch this.”

Sammy feels so good inside him, and Dean’s trying to contain himself, his desperate body betraying him as his hips rock ever so slightly and his mouth goes slack on a gasp. His head lolls forward and his eyes catch on his perfect little brother. Sammy’s eyes are squeezed shut tight in concentration and his head is rolling on the pillow. He looks like sin and desperation, and Dean’s so hard it fucking hurts.

This is his boy–his beautiful boy–and Sammy’s coming apart all for him. It makes him feel powerful, and his body clenches involuntarily at the surge of heat that brings. It steals Sam’s breath, and Dean chases those pretty pink lips down until his entire body is pressed tight to his brother’s, his mouth sucking desperately at Sammy’s.

Mom is here he remembers vaguely, as he feels her fingers ghost over his forehead. He feels like he should be more concerned than he is.

“I can’t just leave you two here alone, honey. Ten minutes ago, you were both _dying_ ,“ she insists quietly, her voice betraying sympathy, as she tries her best not to break them from chasing the pleasure she knows will fix this, fix _them_.

“You shouldn’t have to see this,” he whispers out, burying his face in the crook of Sam’s neck.

“See what?” Mary murmurs, gentle, reassuring fingers slipping through Dean’s hair, “My boys taking care of one another? This was the only way to help you both in time, Dean. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

But she’s wrong, Dean thinks as he shifts to wrap tighter around his little brother. She’s wrong because Dean has everything to feel guilty about. Mostly because he _doesn’t_ feel guilty about this. Because Dean is in this bed, fucking his little brother because of a goddamn hunt gone awry, and he’s never felt more right or whole or loved. Because all he wants–all he’s ever wanted–is his sweet Sammy.

And that’s wrong. It’s so wrong because mom is here now and this is not the way Dean had ever imagined this fucked up thing between himself and Sammy would be realized… right in front of their mother’s eyes.

He feels tears start to gather at the thought, and Sam’s arms tighten around him, as his little brother kisses them away.

“It’s okay,“ Sam murmurs, quiet, just for Dean, “just focus on me. Let me make you feel good, Dean.”

The argument dies on Dean’s lips when he feels the slow, powerful thrust of Sam’s hips, as his brother drives himself impossibly deeper into Dean’s body.

” _Fuck_ ,” Dean shifts down, desperate for more, but unwilling to lose even the slightest inch of his brother. He’s never felt anything so goddamn right in his life, and he needs more–he needs _everything_.

Sam’s hands roam over Dean’s heated skin, and Dean starts to forget that mom is here–that their mother is watching them in this desperate, carnal dance Dean knows has been a long time coming. Because Sammy is hypnotizing; because he’s so, so beautiful in the way he’s straining to keep control as Dean’s body draws the length of his perfect little brother deeper inside, as Dean clenches, slow and paralyzing, against all that stiff flesh inside him, splitting him open and making him feel so fucking whole.

He’s not sorry, he decides, as his fingers trace Sam’s jaw. He feels the tickle of stubble against his skin, and he smiles when the pull of his fingertips brings Sam’s blurry eyes in to focus on his. He should feel sorry, he knows, because their newly alive-again mother should not have to watch her boys fuck in a dirty motel bed while they chase the clock against death. And part of him does feel guilty for that, for what this must be doing to her.

But mostly he just feels whole as his eyes catch to hold on his brother and Sam stares back reverently.

“Hi,” Sam whispers, soft and just for them. The desperate race against death is slowing, and Dean thinks maybe they’re good now and the curse is broken.

“Hi,” Dean murmurs back with a soft smile as his fingers sink into Sam’s hair and his hips roll against his beautiful little brother’s. They’ve slowed their pace a bit, and Dean wants to take his time, to take Sammy apart, but he thinks maybe Sammy’s actually the one in control here, and Dean knows he’s not going to last long; not when he feels so full and loved.

He feels Sam’s hand gentle on the back of his neck then, and he realizes his eyes have drifted to his brother’s mouth. The gentle touch startles his gaze back to Sam’s smiling eyes, and he gasps at the heat and adoration layered there.

It’s too much, he thinks for a brief moment, as his lips betray him and those three little words he never speaks come rushing out with Sam’s name as his body snaps tight and he comes undone in his brother’s arms. He vaguely hears Sam whisper them back as he’s overcome with pleasure, and he feels the rush of heat inside him as Sam follows him into this incredible bliss.

He wonders for a moment if the intensity of it all is the doing of the curse or if it’s just the two of them and the snail-slow build of the last twenty years.

He thinks he wants to find out.

He cuddles close to his little brother. He thinks maybe he’s crushing Sammy a bit, but Sam’s not complaining. Instead, Sam’s gentle fingers are playing through his hair and over his skin, and Dean feels his brother’s lips press softly against his temple, and he sighs in contentment as sleep begins to draw him away.

Briefly, he registers a different set of fingers against his forehead, smaller, more delicate than his brother’s. “Sorry, mom,” he murmurs, doing nothing to shift away from the heat of his brother, a hint of contentment coloring his tone at the little smile he feels form on Sam’s lips where they’re still pressed softly to his temple. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. Both of you. The fever’s gone. And you have nothing to apologize for, honey. You were taking care of one another. It was beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed of, okay?”

Her voice is quiet, and Dean can feel the honesty there. He knows he should find this disturbing, that their mother had gotten a front row seat to their first coupling, that he has no desire to shift away from his brother and pretend this was all just the only solution to a life-or-death decision… And maybe it is disturbing. But Dean has everything he’s ever wanted–everything he’s ever _needed_ –and he can’t bring himself to feel anything other that content and whole and loved.

He hears the door close quietly, and he knows mom has slipped away to let them bask in the afterglow of this incredible night.

He smiles a little and shifts to catch his brother’s lips. “I meant it,” he whispers. “I love you, Sammy.”

“I love you, too, De,” Sam breathes as his arms tighten around Dean.

Sam’s face falls a bit in concentration, though, and Dean knows he’s struggling with his words. “What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks gently as he presses soft kisses to Sam’s jawline.

Sam takes a steadying breath, as he struggles for words, his eyes drifting away from Dean. “Can we have this?” he finally forces out, voice quiet and broken, “Can we have this, Dean? Please? You’re all I’ve ever wanted. And now–now that we’ve had this–Dean, I don’t know if I can go back.”

Dean smiles, feeling a little overwhelmed at the knowledge that Sammy wants this, wants _them_. “Sammy, you know I’m yours. Every part of me. If you want this, I’m all in, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” Sam asks, full of hope and heart and love.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, kisses his brother soundly, and presses his words against Sam’s lips, “I’m all yours, Sammy. Always.”

There are things they’ll need to figure out. Mom, for one, but Dean hopes she might be okay–hopes her support doesn’t end with life-or-death–but he won’t give up Sam and he won’t hide.

They’ll make it work. They always do.


End file.
